


blood rush

by kaaogami (ghoulnoace)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Smut, delinquent au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2018-10-29 13:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10854678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulnoace/pseuds/kaaogami
Summary: “The fuck are you looking at, asshole?”“What the hell did you call me, bastard?"And that’s the start of their antagonistic, violent, and bloody relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrowsoftheTaiga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrowsoftheTaiga/gifts), [Kagabutt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kagabutt/gifts).



> From a convo with these two enablers. (｡･ω･｡)
> 
> Happy AoKaga Day!!! This is, sadly, only the first chapter. I ran out of time to finish it :')))

“The fuck are you looking at, asshole?”

“What the hell did you call me, bastard?"

A few more insults thrown, glares and smirks and sneers exchanged, and soon enough they start trading blows. A knee to his stomach, then a punch to his jaw; he wheezes, but only for a second or two, and then he's throwing a punch of his own. The other dodges, his movements lightning-quick as he gets two more hits in.

This time, it takes a while for him to catch his breath, but when he does, he fancies he sees red tinting the edge of his vision, making it sharper, more focused. He sees an opening just as the other’s drawing his arm back for another blow, and that’s when he moves.

He aims a fist to the guy’s face, seeing for a brief moment as blue eyes widen before there’s the satisfying crack and sting of knuckles connecting to bone.

The guy stumbles back a step, blood dripping from his bent head. There's a beat of silence, a beat of panting, heavy breaths, and then the other's shoulders start shaking. In the next second, loud, almost hysterical laughter fills the street court. After a while, he straightens and looks up, and only now does his eyes look anything but dull. He wipes the mess from his nose with the back of hand, his widening smirk tainted with red.

Taiga stares at the color of it with a sick sort of fascination.

“Hey,” the guy says. “Entertain me more.”

And that’s the start of their antagonistic, violent, and bloody relationship.

 

* * *

 

Taiga is lying peacefully on the infirmary bed and thinking how he’d make Aomine Daiki bleed again when Kuroko’s head pops in between the curtains. He sits up, has a mild heart attack, and yells, “Kuroko, goddammit!”

“Did you have a fight with Aomine-kun again?” the seemingly disembodied head of Kuroko says disapprovingly.

When his heart feels like it’s no longer going to jump out of his chest, he leans against the wall by the head of the bed and says blithely, “Gee. What gave me away?” He winces as the darkening bruise on his jaw throbs with each word he speaks, and thinks with no small amount of irritation – _Man, that bastard can sure throw a punch._

The other boy sighs, sounding weary as he steps in and draws the curtain back behind him. “You should stop bashing each other’s brains out every other day. You both don’t have enough brain cells left – ” _“Oi!”_ “– and next time, you may really need to use that bed to recuperate from your mortal wounds and not just to play hooky on.”

“Ha! I can take that guy on.”

The look Kuroko gives him is totally uncalled for. True, Taiga hadn’t won a single fight (and by won, he meant being the last one standing after the last punch or kick is thrown) in the weeks since they’ve first met, but he’s getting there. More and more of his hits are connecting to that smug, irritating face and that deceptively lean and muscled body. And soon, _Aomine_ will be the one on his back and _Taiga_ will be the one standing over him, gloating.

He grins, wondering what face Aomine will make when (not if) that happens, imagining the banked fury – always lurking behind his eyes, behind his every scoff and drawl – spilling over, turning from cold and biting to bright and scorching. How it’d burn, burn him, burn them both.

He had given Aomine his first injury, and then many more after that; and so Taiga would give him his first defeat also. And his second, and third, and all the next ones too. Taiga would keep that fire in his eyes burning, never to deaden again.

“Kagami-kun is thinking dirty thoughts.”

“I’m not!”

He’s itching to punch something. Some _o_ _ne._ And lucky for Kuroko’s skinny self, that someone isn’t him.

* * *

* * *

 

A split lip, a cut on his eyebrow, and a couple of bruises on his torso are what Daiki walks away with after today’s brawl. He paid it back in kind, plus a bruise on the idiot’s cheek and a shiner on his left eye instead of a cut on his stupid, forked eyebrow.

Ha. Who said Daiki’s going easy on the guy? Kagami, a red-headed idiot who doesn’t know when to give up and keeps crashing Daiki’s naptime on the rooftop for a rematch, had always left their fights worse off than him.

Daiki had been on many, many fistfights. But Kagami’s the only one who had ever landed a blow on him. And continued to, even if after that first time, Daiki had never really held back. Kagami just went at him each time with more zeal, more strength.

He smirks at the memory of that first punch (a month, two weeks, and five days ago now), at how Daiki had been careless, thinking the other’s already had enough and needs only one more hit to knock him down and out, but suddenly there’s a fist coming directly towards his face, and then pain.

Oh, the _pain_. It had coursed through his nerves, alighting it, setting it ablaze. And the red-hot gaze Kagami had shot him with as they both felt the impact only added fuel to the fire. It had been so long since Daiki last felt that alive. Long, long ago, since he’d let the ball fall from his hand, never to be picked up again.

Ah. He sighs. How soon can he sock Kagami on the jaw again? Have Kagami aim a punch at him in return? Feel that intense, fiery stare focused on him, and only him?

As he walks towards home, relishing in the ache of each step, each spark he feels flaring from his wounds and sinking into his bones, he thinks:

_Tomorrow can’t come soon enough._

 

* * *

 

“What do you mean you don’t want to?”

Two days have gone by without Kagami issuing him a challenge, and on the third, Daiki takes it upon himself to scour the entire school looking for the idiot. It enrages him. Never before had _he_ gone looking for a fight; the fight _always_ comes to him, even if he hadn’t asked for it.

(In the back of his mind, where it will never be acknowledged, he’d been thinking, _‘What if I actually killed him this time?’_ )

But here Kagami is, sitting on the grass under the shade in between the gym and the storage shed and busy gorging himself on a mountain of chicken karaage.

“Exactly what I said, _Ahomine_. You gave me a fucking black eye and the doctor said to rest. Nice stitches, by the way,” Kagami says, his smug tone evident even through his mouthful.

Daiki raises the eyebrow where two sets of stitches run across it, the slight sting from when the injury was still fresh now completely, irritatingly absent. "So what? You just gonna give up? You’re _weak,_ Kagami,” he taunts, hoping that the insult will make the other fly into a rage, like all the other times before.

Kagami glares at him, but he only achieves to look funny because his face is like one giant bruise and one of his eyes is swollen shut. His one-eyed stare bothers Daiki, but he doesn’t care to understand why. “I’m going to beat you bloody as soon as I can see from both eyes again. And me, weak? Tell that to the concussion I gave you last last week!”

He laughs. _Oh, so he still has some fight left in him._ “I still beat your sorry ass even when I was concussed, you Bakagami!” He intentionally fails to mention how after that happened, he’d staggered to Satsuki’s place, collapsed on their genkan, and spent the next day disoriented.

There’s a growl (the sound of it familiar), a hold on his forearm (this, not so much, but at the rough touch, he feels the usual shiver run down his spine), and suddenly he’s being pulled down, the motion catching him off guard. Daiki’s knees hit the ground hard and he hisses, the curse dying on the tip of his tongue as he feels something being shoved into his mouth. He bites down instinctively, and the something is crunchy, soft on the inside, and _Kagami just fucking shoved a karaage in my –_

A hand winds through the hair at the back of his head, another clamping down on his mouth, the width of the palm so big and the span of the fingers so long that Daiki’s nose gets blocked too, making it hard to breathe. He grabs at Kagami’s wrist, gripping tight enough that it should hurt, but while Kagami flinches a bit, he doesn’t let go. He continues to struggle against the hold on his head, trying to ignore the prickling at his scalp as he moves up and away from the unsettling touch, but the other doesn’t fucking budge.

He’s quickly losing air, feeling warm and lightheaded.

Kagami leans over him, pushing him lower on his knees that he has to actually look _up,_ and he finds Kagami's face so close to his, the other's lone visible eye glowing with mischief and… something he doesn’t know and doesn’t ever want to know. “Don’t even dare spit it out. Chew it,” the redhead says, voice low and vaguely threatening, and in his shame, Daiki finds himself doing so, _pliantly,_ slowly and with difficulty, “yeah, like that. Now swallow.”

Daiki glares at the taunting smirk on the asshole’s face, and when he feels the hold on his mouth loosen the tiniest bit, he opens his mouth as wide as he can and bites down on the meat of Kagami’s palm, a smirk of his own tugging at his lips as Kagami wrenches his hand away and shoots up to his feet, cursing in pain and anger.

“What the hell, bastard!” Kagami glares down at him, nursing his hand close.

Daiki staggers upwards, not liking having to look up at Kagami _and_ being on his knees while doing so. _At all._ “Keep your fucking hands to yourself!”

Even with Kagami being a feet or two away from him, Daiki still feels the residual heat of their sheer proximity from barely a minute ago; of the feel of Kagami’s skin on his, so unlike the feeling of knuckles breaking skin; of the touch against his mouth, tingling, stinging on his split bottom lip; of Kagami's intense stare boring into him, making him feel things he doesn't want to feel.

He hates it. And he shows how much he fucking hates it by roundhousing Kagami on the ribs and leaving him curled up and sputtering on the grass.

There’s a warmth on Daiki’s cheeks as he walks away, and he doesn’t know how long it’s been there.

He’s so gonna fuck Kagami up next time. 

* * *

* * *

 

Aomine swings a fist his way, curses when Taiga manages to barely dodge, then uses his momentum to take a step forward, pivot on his foot, and then deliver a kick to his side, on the exact same spot that is still smarting from the hit a few days back.

He takes in a shaky breath and evades another punch only to be promptly kneed on the gut. Taiga staggers back from the relentless assault, grunting and clutching at his aching side.

Aomine is fucking savage today; quicker, more agile, like he’s really out to get blood. Not even a minute into the fight and Taiga’s already sporting a bloody nose, a bruised cheek, and a couple new aches on his body. And now he feels his knees give, sending him falling on his ass on the cold concrete of the rooftop and hissing as the pain shudders throughout his whole body.

Taiga must really have struck a nerve on the guy when he did _that._

“Tch. Asshole," Aomine spits out.

Taiga looks up and sure enough, he sees the other man already turning away, like he always does as soon as any part of Taiga besides his feet touches the ground for more than a second. And he’s just about to spit out an insult of his own, like what he usually does as he watches Aomine walk further away, but something stops him, the words dying on his mouth, and instead he says, “Did you really hate the karaage that much?”

If he had enough air in his lungs, he would have laughed at how quick and violent Aomine threw his head back to look at him, irritation and incredulity etching across the dip between his forehead and the downward slant of his mouth.

“Hah?!”

“The karaage I gave you the other day.” Taiga wipes the blood flowing to his lips with the sleeve of his uniform and tries to smother the smirk he can feel tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I made those, you know,” he says, putting his arms on his raised knees and leaning over them.

Aomine’s facing him fully again, shifting from confused, to anger, and to what Taiga would like to think is embarrassment. He wonders whether Aomine had been making those same expressions behind Taiga’s hand that day, and he thinks, with startling realization, about how much he’d like to see those expressions again, much closer, and without anything in the way – just face to face.

Huh. Where did that come from?

“ _You_ made it? So that’s why it tasted like crap,” Aomine says, the displeased look on his face settling into a mocking sneer, a familiar sight that Taiga likes seeing so that he can punch it off of his mug.

And Taiga knows, without a doubt, that Aomine’s planning on turning back around and leaving it at that, ending this encounter like he has all the other times before: with him having the last word.

 _Well_ , he thinks with a reckless grin, _not this time._

Taiga stands up, cringing as he does so, and leans against the chain-link fence behind him. “You know what I think, Aomine?” he asks, and when he has the other’s attention again, he brings a hand up and covers his mouth like he did Aomine’s before, but not tight enough to muffle the smugness on his voice as he says, “I think you _liked_ it.”

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Just like he doesn’t know what he was doing _that_ day, when he forced Aomine on his knees and basically gagged him. But he does know that he felt… _satisfied,_ seeing Aomine in that position in front of him. And now, he feels something similar as he watches the implication slowly dawn on Aomine’s face, how his eyes widen, the look in them darkening and his features twisting into fury as he _prowls_ towards him, his eyes now narrowed to slits and his lips pulled back in a snarl.

Taiga drops his hand to better show off the smirk on his face, and there’s a brief flash of fear that crawls down his spine as he once again thinks _what the hell am I doing?,_ but it's chased away just as fast by the excitement thrumming in his veins. Then he breathes in, and Aomine’s already standing in front of him, a scant few inches between them and his shirt held tight on the other’s fist. Aomine looks like he really wants to kill him this time, and though Taiga delights in the fact that _he_ brought that look on his face, he is becoming more and more mesmerized by the dark spots of red coloring Aomine’s cheeks.

“What the fuck did you say?!” Aomine growls out threateningly, but Taiga just chuckles, amused at the embarrassment the other’s trying so hard – and _failing –_ to hide. “Don’t fucking laugh! I’m not a – ”

Taiga finds that he doesn’t care to hear what Aomine doesn’t think he is, just that he continues to make _that_ expression, a strangely captivating mix of denial and anger, layered with awkwardness and a hint of humiliation. It’s a new look; surprisingly flattering on Aomine’s face, and Taiga wants to see _more._ Fuck why he’s doing this, this unusual way of provoking Aomine, but he wants it and he’s going to keep doing it. Aomine is capable enough to put him in a coma if he doesn’t want to play the game.

(Though… Taiga is pretty sure that Aomine  _wants_ to.)

So he braces himself and brings his forehead crashing forward, the resounding crack and Aomine’s groan of pain loud even in the open space of the rooftop. Taiga gives himself only a second to recover before he grabs Aomine’s right arm and goes around and behind him, shoving him forward until the fence is rattling from their weight.

But Aomine’s already struggling, even with one of his arm twisted behind him. Taiga dodges the elbow hurtling back at him; grabs it and pins both arms behind Aomine, arranging it so that he can grip both his wrists with just one hand. Then he moves closer, closer until his chest is almost flat against Aomine’s back, until he’s effectively pinning the other’s body with his own.

There's a strange feeling in his gut as he realizes how _bigger_ he is compared to Aomine, how even if Aomine’s taller than an inch or two, the other’s just that tad leaner, less bulkier. How easily he can blanket him with his body, _under him –_

“Let go! I’m gonna fucking kill you, you asshole!”

Aomine has his head turned uncomfortably to the side, his other cheek pressed against the chain-link fence, and Taiga thinks how that must hurt, but it's a thought that only brings a smirk to his face. He can only see half of Aomine's face like this, but what he _does_ see is enough – a scowl on chapped, trembling lips; a ruddier shade of red slashing across high, sharp cheekbones; a heated, hateful glare, more black than blue with how dilated his pupil is; and mortification and rage tainting his expression.

_More._

He grips Aomine’s hair and pushes his head further against the fence until Aomine's hissing. But when he blinks up at Taiga over his shoulder, there’s a different look on his eye, one Taiga thinks he'd seen before – over the hand he has clamped over Aomine’s mouth when he had him on his knees.

Taiga realizes that Aomine has stopped struggling.

He licks his lips and sees Aomine swallow. His gaze flickers from the line of Aomine’s neck to his own hand, still clutched around the other's impossibly soft hair, along the purpling scars dotting along the side of it. Teeth marks.

“Kagami! Fucking let me – ” A pause. A curse as Taiga’s fingers curl on Aomine's hair tighter, dragging his head back and shoving it until he's facing forward. A shaky whisper as Taiga’s hand moves down, settling heavily on the base of Aomine’s neck, “What are you doing?”

Taiga leans closer, letting his breath and his lips ghost over Aomine’s nape, making the other shiver at the feather-light touch, and says, “Payback.”

Then he bites down. Hard.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Aomine enters the school grounds with an expression more pissed off than usual and a scarf wrapped around his neck. The sight wouldn’t have been unusual if it isn’t _the middle of summer._  He snarls at anyone who dares look him in the eye for longer than a second, but it doesn't stop the hushed whispering that follows his each step.

Taiga waits and watches from the shoe lockers, and when Aomine's close enough, he makes sure that the other notices the grin spreading wide across his face. He is extremely gratified by the scowl and the angered flush he can see even through the distance and Aomine’s dark skin. It makes the recently broken nose (from Aomine driving his head back against his) and another swollen eye (this one from an enraged punch) totally worth it. 

 _Oh,_ Taiga thinks through the pain and the promise of more on Aomine's unamused glare,  _how fun._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? An update after a year? LMAO. I was gonna update this on AoKaga Day 2018, but apparently I cannot be trusted. Let's be honest tho, everyday is AoKaga Day! :D
> 
> Thanks to Hela, Rielle, and Roxx for being excellent cheerers. Your excitement for this fic fueled me :***
> 
> Bumped up the rating, coz reasons. Enjoy~ :3

_“You know what I think, Aomine? I think you_ liked _it.”_

_Daiki recognizes this for what it is. A provocation. A challenge._

_But it’s a realization that comes a little too late, his reason clouded by the stubborn denial and burning rage that rushes within him, through him, at hearing those words. At seeing the smirk on that face, barely hidden by the hand he has over his mouth, the very same one he pressed over Daiki’s own lips the other_ _day._

_When it dawns on him, he has already fallen for the taunt like the other man intended to._

_And in just the blink of an eye, he finds himself trapped, a hand clamped firmly on his wrists, pinning his arms behind him, keeping him in place. A weight falls on his back, heavy and broad and oozing heady warmth. Fingers grasp tightly through his hair, pulling, pushing, pressing him to the fence, sliding down his neck and settling at the base._

_His limbs feel leaden, pliant against the other’s hold. Without even meaning to, he has stopped struggling, and all he could do was ask, in a voice shaky and low and dripping in anticipation, “What are you doing?”_

_That warmth inches impossibly closer, making him shiver. Breath on his nape, making his own stutter. The feather-light touch of lips, making his pulse skitter underneath his skin._

_A whisper, laced with smugness and something darker, “Payback.”_

_Then teeth, then pain, and he jolts, every inch of his body taut; he gasps, a high breathy sound that tears at his throat. His nerves are alight, centered at that one point, at the patch of skin that gives, just a little, under the bite._

_And it hurts, the pain sharp and almost unbearable. But there’s something else in the wake of it. Something more intense, something that makes the heat that had been curling low in his gut since the first touch crackle into a blaze. It makes a strangled noise escape his mouth, makes his back arch, his body pressing forward against the fence and he can feel that — he can feel that —_

_He’s_ hard _. Oh fuck oh fuckfuckfuckfuck he’s so fucking hard, the tightness in his groin a telltale sign that he’s clo—_

_The pressure of teeth on his skin starts to loosen then, allowing him to breathe, and in that moment of clarity, he does what he should’ve done a minute ago. He rears his head back, the sharp_ crack _of bone satisfying but not enough, and so with a growl he whirls around and punches the light out of the bastard._

_He then staggers home in a daze, all too aware of the piercing pain on his nape and the thick wetness trailing down his back. And once safe in the privacy of his own room, it’s all he could do to not shove his hand inside his pants and stroke his cock to completion._

_In the end though, he does it anyway. Because he can still feel that weight against him, feel the tingling around his wrists, hear the echo of that voice in his ear. And he’s weak to it, he realizes that now. So very weak. That even though he’s the one who always throws the last punch, it’s not him who really wins._

‘I think you liked it.’

_He did, oh god he_ does _._

_When he cums, it’s with a cry of Kagami’s name rolling off his tongue; it’s to the feeling of Kagami’s mark in his skin, deep in his flesh, pulsing in time with the frantic beating of his heart._

 

* * *

 

“Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what,” Daiki says, voice as flat as he can make it to be.

Satsuki rolls her eyes. “About _this_ ,” she says, pressing the cotton ball hard — definitely harder than necessary — on the scrape on his cheek.

“Ow, watch it." He flinches away from the sting of the alcohol and throws her a glare.

“Well?” Satsuki asks, a brow raised in impatience.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s _not_ nothing. I haven’t seen you this banged up since… well. Actually you’ve been quite banged up lately haven’t you?”

“You should see the other guy. That Kagami is such a bastard, I tell you.”

Satsuki makes a very unlady-like snort. “I doubt he’s any worse than you. But this Kagami… is he the one who gave you that concussion last month?”

“...Maybe,” he mumbles. His hand unknowingly comes up to his nape, rubbing at the skin like he has taken to doing for the last couple of weeks. But the bite there has all but healed, the only thing that shows it has been there in the first place are the rough, uneven scars he feels beneath his fingers.

There’s no pain anymore.

No pain at all.

“I see,” Satsuki says after a moment of silence in a tone that has all his warning bells ringing, “This has to stop, Dai-chan. You need to resolve this sexual tension without resorting to violence. It’s not healthy.”

His brain screeches to a halt.

“...The what now?”

_“Se-xu-al ten-sion,”_ Satsuki repeats, the words said in all seriousness, “It’s actually not all that uncommon a reaction. Adrenaline and arousal — ”

“ _Stop._ It’s not — ! I do _not_ want to hear you talk about… that shit.”

“You can say ‘sex’, Dai-chan. It’s a normal human process and it’s okay to want it from the same — ”

“It’s not like that and I thought I told you to shut up!” Daiki almost shrieks. He stands up with a disgruntled huff, his various bodily aches making themselves known, and he doesn’t know whether to wince from the pain or sigh in contentment because damn, he’s gonna be feeling that for a long while.

God, he’s messed up. He blames Kagami and his stupidly handsome mug and the way he seems to know what Daiki wants, how to push and hurt and make him shake under his touch. How he seems to enjoy pinning Daiki down.

Satsuki heaves a sigh, like she’s finally done with all his shit and can’t be bothered to care anymore. “Suit yourself, Dai-chan. But I won’t be cleaning up your wounds next time,” she says, and Daiki would’ve believed her if she hadn’t said it all the previous times too.

He just grunts in reply and searches around the living room for the bloodied shirt he tossed away earlier, Satsuki insisting he strip so she can see how many bandages she should roll out (none, thank you very much). He needs to get out of here fast, before Satsuki thinks to give him another unsolicited advice on his sex life.

_Not like hers is any better,_ he mentally scoffs. Last he heard, Tetsu still hasn’t put out. _And anyway, it’s not like that!_

“Ah by the way Dai-chan,” Satsuki says from the kitchen just as he spots his crumpled shirt on the gaudy-looking (and lumpy as hell) sofa, “I heard that that gang… what was the name? Ah, right, Kirisaki! I heard they’ve been skulking around town recently. You beat up some of their members before, didn’t you? You should keep an eye out. Are you listening, Dai-chan?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening.” Except he isn’t, not really, distracted as he is by his reflection through the mirror placed just outside Satsuki’s cramped bedroom. Bruises and wounds in various stages of healing litter his bare torso, stark even against his complexion, but his eyes are fixed on the new, ugly lines of red and raw skin scoring across his cheekbone and the darkening bruise around it.

It will probably leave a scar and will definitely hurt for at least a week. And seeing it reminds him about earlier. Of brawling along the back of the deserted school gym, being shoved violently and losing his footing. Of a heavy body on his back, restraining him, a hand gripping his hip tight and the other grabbing his hair and pushing, grinding his face against the concrete, and a low husky whisper against the shell of his ear —

_“So easy! You enjoy being pinned like this huh, Aomine?”_

— of trembling almost violently, of struggling out of that hold, kicking Kagami in the ribs with a snarl, and then scrambling away. Of barging into the nearest restroom and locking himself inside an empty stall. Of jerking off, his grip on his cock rough and tight, the ghost of that voice and that touch and that warmth spurring him on until he’s cumming with a bitten-off moan.

_Kagami is such a_ bastard, he had thought then as the cum cooled on his hand and the arousal waned, replaced with the familiar feelings of anger and shame. (How many times did this make it now? Too fucking many, that’s what.)

But now it makes Daiki wonder. If he presses against the bruise, will it hurt? Will it hurt enough?

His pulse quickens at the thought, at the idea of  actually trying it out, and in seconds he’s putting all his clothes back on and hurrying out the door of Satsuki’s apartment, ignoring Satsuki’s call and barely managing to throw a curt _‘see ya’_ over his shoulder.

 

And later, he finds out...

That it aches pleasantly, but it’s _nowhere_ near enough.

 

* * *

 

Daiki tastes blood, metallic and sharp, on his tongue.

He feels it run down his cheek, wet and warm.

And he feels it — oh does he feel it — _rushing,_ thundering through his veins. Fast. So fast he’s almost dizzy, out of breath, giddy with the excitement boiling beneath his skin. It’s like he’s on a high and nothing can take him crashing down.

The skin of his knuckles tear as his fist connects to a solid jaw. A bone or two pops — his, but he barely feels it.

He grins. Pulls his arm back. Aims again.

But the punch doesn’t connect this time. Instead, a crushing grip catches it, making him hiss, and then all too sudden he’s being yanked forward, straight into the knee being driven up to his gut.

He doubles over. Falls on his own knees. Retches blood and spit on the floor of the rooftop.

A harsh gulp of air above him, followed by a ragged laugh. “I win—”

He pounces. Grabs hold of the other’s legs, letting the momentum push him forward and sending the other man tumbling backwards onto the sun-warmed rooftop. And as soon as he crashes to the floor with a loud thud and a shout, Daiki’s on him, pinning his shoulder with a knee and the other arm with a foot.

“Not today, asshole,” he says. _God_ he feels so alive, right here, right now, with his muscles burning from exertion and his chest heaving with deep, painful breaths.

Kagami glares daggers up at him, brows drawn tight and teeth bared in a snarl. He bucks and flails, trying to dislodge him, but Daiki just presses down harder until Kagami’s wincing and cursing from the pressure.

“Get _off_ you bastard! I’m gonna fucking smash your stupid face in, you goddamn motherfucker!!”

It’s Daiki’s turn to laugh and sneer at Kagami’s look of pure rage. “Not while on your back, you won’t.”

These last few weeks, Daiki has come to realize a few things about himself. About pain and submission and control. How he revels in two of those and is desperate to give up one. But even so, he can’t say he dislikes this, having Kagami below him as he continues to struggle, body twisting and struggling while his mouth spews insults and threats, his cheeks flushed prettily from anger.

_“Get the fuck off—!”_

Yeah, he likes this view very much too.

“Maybe if you — ”

He feels something trickle down his temple, collecting just at the jut of his cheek. He feels Kagami freeze, sees his eyes zoning in on his face, focused and sharp. The blood starts to droop agonizingly _slowly,_ falls, and lands on Kagami’s face so very close to his mouth.

Two pairs of eyes meet, both wide in shock, and it’s like time freezes in that moment, an indescribable tension thrumming in the air, so thick he can almost feel the pressure of it pressing against him.

The shrill ringing of the after lunch bell pierces through the silence, but the tension remains and doubles.

Kagami’s gaze shifts, turning heavy and burning with a different kind of heat, and Daiki can’t move, let alone breathe. He can only stare, almost hypnotized, as Kagami’s lips part, as his tongue slips out to the side and...

_Licks_ Daiki’s blood clean off his skin.

Kagami’s smirk is tainted red. “You don’t taste half bad for a jerk-face.”

A hot flash of arousal jolts through Daiki, startling in its suddenness and intensity. He scrambles away, trying to get back on his feet, but he doesn’t get far as hands grab him by the collar and pull, sending him crashing to his knees with a pained groan. He snaps his head up, but the curse he was about to let loose comes out as a startled gasp.

He has somehow ended up straddling Kagami. And bent low as he is right now, their faces are a foot or less away. Too close for comfort. Too far to kiss off the smirk that’s still tugging on those reddened lips.

That smirk does _things_ to Daiki, hot and naughty and dirty things, and right now he needs to get the fuck —

“Nope, you ain’t running away this time. Let’s feel good together, yeah?” Kagami says, and as if to prove his point, he wraps his arms around Daiki’s neck, holding him in place.

He struggles, an instinctive habit from having his movements restrained, but Kagami just holds on tighter and pulls him closer, the distance between them crumbling until he’s bracing himself on trembling arms on either side of Kagami’s head, and all that’s left to bridge the gap, to find out what exactly he tastes like on Kagami’s tongue, is a mere inch. _A mere inch._

_Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshit._

“Let… go…” Daiki tries to say, but it sounds weak even to his ears, more breathless than he intends it to be, more of a whine than an actual protest.

“Aomine,” Kagami says, each movement of his lips brushing against his so very lightly it’s maddening, “isn’t it about time we stop this? We both know what we want — ”

“Then fucking take it, _c’mon,_ ” Daiki manages to say through gritted teeth. His hand fists around the collar of Kagami’s shirt, something solid to hold on to. He’s just about reached the end of his limits, his self-control fraying faster than the pounding of his heart against his chest. _God_ he’s desperate for it, has been so desperate for it since the Kagami changed all the rules of this little game of theirs.

But even still, he doesn’t want to just take that last bit of distance. Instead, what he wants, what he _needs,_ is to be _made_ to cross that line.

Fingers wind through his hair, sharply pulling his head back but not far enough that he can’t glare down and see Kagami’s eyes darken with lust. “No. _Give it_ to me, Aomine.”

_That’s unfair,_ he thinks through his daze, the way Kagami breathes his name like that, like he owns it and he knows it. The way Kagami’s hand loosens its hold and settles on his nape, his thumb tracing the edges of the scar there like a reminder.

It’s that brief pointed touch that does it, all the fight leaving Daiki in a groan that’s half frustration and half relief, a broken cry that he presses against Kagami’s mouth and which Kagami swallows eagerly, greedily.

And only then does Kagami _take_. He takes control as his hand grabs Daiki’s hair again, angling his head so he can better slot their mouths together; takes what little air Daiki has left in him as he bites his bottom lip hard and makes him gasp, taking the chance to slip his tongue in and curl it around Daiki’s own.

It’s messy and sloppy and with hardly any finesse, but Daiki is overwhelmed by it all the same. Every lick, every wet slide of tongue, every nip of teeth on lips, each one sends a spark of fire dancing along his skin and coursing through his blood.

The hand on his hip startles him, but when the grip tightens and urges him lower, he follows without even a shred of hesitation. It’s almost instinctual, the desire to get closer, to have more _._

But even with the anticipation of what’s coming, the press of their bodies shocks him still. The feeling of hard flesh against hard flesh—barely hidden by their layers of clothes—and blessed, blessed friction. The moan that rumbles out of him is high and needy as fuck and he’s powerless to stop it.

He feels the smirk against his lips a second before Kagami pulls away. “I knew you’d make the loveliest noises.”

“I… that...” Shit. What are words again?

“Ah? Did I make you speechless with my kiss?”

“Don’t fucking flatter yourse— _ngghh ahhh—_ ”

“But you’re so hard,” Kagami says, rolling his hips pointedly, their cocks stiff lines of pressure rubbing against each other. “ _I_ did that.”

Daiki gasps, unable to stop himself from grinding back down, prolonging and intensifying that pleasurable contact. He can’t deny any of what Kagami said, not when he can feel his dick straining almost painfully against his pants. Proof of his arousal, of the effect of Kagami’s hold — his words, his gaze, his everything — on his body.

But it’s not just him.

“Hah! Acting so smug when you’re just... just as hard,” Daiki sneers.

“Your fault. You look so hot all bruised up like that, when you fight me so fiercely but then go so pliant when I pin you down and my touch gets just a tad bit rougher.” Kagami’s smirk goes even wider as he adds, “It’s cute.”

Anger and shame rushes out of him in a snarl, but this sound, Kagami takes too, kisses and sucks it out of his mouth until the rage bleeds out of him and Daiki is forced to rear back, gasping in much needed air. Lips and teeth immediately latch on to his throat, leaving a trail of heat over his skin and pulling a groan from his mouth that he’s a second too late to stop.

Kagami clicks his tongue. _“Don’t._ I wanna hear you. I bet by the end of today you’d be moaning my name anyway,” he says, his lips dangerously close to Daiki’s ear.

“Not. Happening,” he hisses, even as his pulse quickens at the challenge in Kagami’s voice; even as yet another strangled whine catches in his throat as the hold on his hips turn bruising, their bodies dragging together, _rubbing rubbing rubbing_.

He can sense the silent amusement rolling off Kagami in waves, and seriously, _fuck that._ Daiki’s had enough of turning putty under Kagami’s touch. Granted, Kagami’s hands and mouth are _very_ talented and feels g— _Fuck that!_

Daiki moves. He kisses Kagami like Kagami has kissed him. Deep, wet, possessive. And when Kagami surges up into the kiss, his mouth over Daiki’s just as fervent, he feels a bone-deep satisfaction sink into him the same time as a desperate need for _more_ consumes him.

_More skin on skin, more Kagami, more more more._

It’s with an impatient growl that he pulls at Kagami’s pants, tugging the button free and the zipper down. He leans back fully on his knees, wanting to see Kagami’s face as this time, _Daiki_ gives _him_ his pleasure.

He would have preferred to see Kagami naked, see the muscles Daiki knows are hidden beneath his clothes, see his sun-kissed skin ripple under Daiki’s touch. But for now, he’d settle with this. With Kagami’s pants open, his boxers shoved down just enough to free his cock, his hard-as-rock cock which Daiki has his hand wrapped around.

_“Oh fuck yes — ”_ Kagami moans at the contact, hips arching up and eyes fluttering close, and Daiki just… freezes.

Shit. This should be weird as hell, right? It should be. It should be. He has never—and hadn’t thought he ever would _want_ to—touched another guy’s dick. But Kagami looks so… _sexy_ like this, with his cheeks a ruddy shade of red and his lips swollen. His length is a hot heavy weight on Daiki’s palm, and all he wants to do right now is lick the precum dribbling from the slit, taste him directly on his tongue.

“Like this,” a rough, calloused hand covers his own. “Touch me like this,” Kagami says again, his voice barely above a whisper as he moves both their hands over his cock, his hold tight around the head and his strokes slow yet firm.

Daiki swallows hard. “Don’t… tell me what to do!”

Kagami manages to grin up at him and shrug even as his breath hitches. “I have… something better to do anyway.”

He starts unbuckling Daiki’s pants and pulls it down mid thigh, faster and much smoother than when Daiki did his, and for a moment he resents that fact before heat wraps around his cock and jerks him rough and fast, just the way he likes it and _oh…_ what was he pissed off about again?

“Hey, I know my hand feels good but…” Kagami curses and thrusts into Daiki’s slackened, motionless hold. “C’mon, man. _Move.”_

“I said don’t… _ngghh—_ order me around!” he bites out in reply.

Kagami is right though. His hand on Daiki’s cock feels so, so mind-numbingly good. Every stroke, every squeeze, every brush of that thumb on his slit sets his nerves ablaze; as if all the sensations are unfamiliar, like he hadn’t jacked off even once before, like he hadn’t just done it last night thinking it was Kagami making him cum. And Kagami _will_ make him cum. It’s in the promise of his smirk, his heavy-lidded gaze.

But _no way_ is Daiki gonna be shooting his load first.

He lets go, a smirk of his own tugging at his lips when Kagami growls and tries to follow his touch. He makes sure he has Kagami’s full attention before he brings his hand up to his face and licks across it, wetting his palm, his fingers, his tongue chasing the faint taste of Kagami’s dick on his skin.

Kagami is staring up at him, mouth agape and face a bright red, and Daiki feels a savage sort of satisfaction at finally managing to shut up the bastard. But it’s nothing compared to the feeling of hearing Kagami make a keening sound of pleasure when Daiki’s hand wraps around him again, the slide easier, faster, _filthier_.

“Thought I’d be making the lovely noises?” Daiki asks, brow raised and lips tilted in a mocking grin.

Eyes more black than red glare at him, and with a barked _“Oh, you will”_ and an answering grin, he resumes his movements over Daiki’s cock.

It’s rough, dry, but he doesn’t ask Kagami to spit on his hand and Kagami doesn’t offer. It’s okay. More than okay. Daiki finds the ungentle drag of skin on skin pleasant. As pleasant as the ache in his knees and knuckles and the sudden sting of Kagami’s nails digging on his ass.

“Nice ass. For a jerk-face.” A squeeze. A sharp slap. A finger inching its way to —

_“Oi,_ ” he hisses. “Don’t even think about it.” Don’t, ‘cause Daiki’s already _this_ close to cumming embarrassingly quick without those thick fingers fucking into him. And goddamn, now _he’s_ thinking it!

“Pity. Maybe next time.”

_Next time._ Shit, yeah okay he likes that. “My dick’s up for a next time,” Daiki doesn’t mean to say, and Kagami laughs and oh hey, seems his dick likes Kagami’s laugh too.

“I bet it is,” Kagami says, voice filled with mirth.

There’s no more speaking for Daiki after that. Not when Kagami yanks him in close again, nips and tugs at his bottom lip, licks into his mouth when Daiki moans. And moans, and moans, because Kagami’s hand doesn’t slow one bit, only quickens, turns even rougher and _fucking hell_ Kagami’s driving him crazy.

He tries to pull away.

Kagami doesn’t let him.

Just pushes into Daiki closer until he can’t breathe properly. Can’t think clearly. Can’t move except to rut into Kagami’s hold, mindlessly seeking that tightness, focused on his own completion. Kagami grunts and slaps his unmoving hand away, lines up the hard, heated lengths of their cocks and fists together their throbbing, leaking heads, and the sound that spills from Daiki’s lips is high and broken and bordering obscene.

They part with a gasp, a string of saliva connecting their panting mouths. They’re almost chest to chest, Daiki leaning most of his weight on the body underneath him, and like this, Kagami barely has the space to grasp and stroke their dicks with any semblance of rhythm.

But even so, Daiki is overwhelmed. By the closeness and the warmth, the touch and the friction. By _Kagami_.

Below him, Kagami at least has the decency to look as wrecked as Daiki feels. _Good._

There are fingers curling ‘round his hair now, lips mouthing along his throat again. Gripping sharply enough to hurt _(yes)_ , sucking hard enough to bruise _(fuck yes)_ and the heat curls tight within his core, makes his skin tingle and his limbs tremble, and the hold on his dick twists and rubs and _oh_ Daiki is —

He’s so close.

_“Kagami — Kagami I’m — ”_

Then the fingers press into his nape, tracing bite-shaped scars on his skin the same time as lips pull back and teeth sink into the joint of his neck and shoulder, biting into him, marking him like he’d already been marked before, and Daiki cries out that name again and leans into the touch, his vision dulling at the edges as pain and pleasure blur together until one is the other and the other is both and the only thing he can do is grab onto Kagami’s shirt and groan as he reaches the peak and plummets off the edge.

Kagami follows a mere second after with a choked-off curse and a moan of his own.

The fall is a long way down, and by then, Daiki has slumped fully over Kagami, chest heaving with deep breaths. It’s nowhere near cozy, with his nose squished against Kagami’s stupidly muscled pecs and the cum starting to dribble down the inside of his pants, but his body is pleasantly loose-limbed and his head blissfully blank that he’s loath to move even an inch.

“Oi, get off. Fuck, you’re heavy. My hand’s going numb.”

He doesn’t move.

“Asshole, you even made me do all the work in the end.”

But that’s Kagami’s fault and Daiki tells him so.

Kagami shoves him off and Daik sprawls on his back, cackling with glee.

Off to the side, he sees Kagami sit up and glare at his white-streaked palm with disgust before he wipes the mess on his shirt. _Better him than me,_ Daiki scoffs, closing his eyes as the last dregs of the heady rush bleeds out of him in waves.

The concrete floor under him is uncomfortable, but the warmth of the late afternoon sun is nice and soothing. He can fall asleep here easily. Like, right now. Even with his dick and ass still out in the open.

He sighs. The bite on his shoulder stings. It feels damn good.

“Aomine.”

Daiki opens his eyes.

Kagami is hovering above him, hand propped beside his head and expression unusually pensive. His gaze roams over Daiki’s face before settling on his neck, where it stays there for a long, long moment. Then he hums, quiet and pleased, a hint of possessiveness in the sound.

Daiki feels his skin prickle, his cock twitch. He scowls. “What.”

“Hm? Nothing,” Kagami says absently. He blinks and looks at Daiki properly. “Hey, so does this mean you won’t punch me again?”

Daiki stares up at him, and for the first time since they’d met, he doesn’t get the urge to bash that confident look on Kagami’s face in. Instead, he wants to kiss him stupid(er) and make him wrap his hand around Daiki’s throat.

But then he remembers the thrill of the fight, the exchange of blows, the adrenaline. And then after, the ache as he prods at bruises and stretches strained muscles. Most of all, he remembers Kagami licking Daiki’s blood off his skin.

“Definitely,” Daiki says, voice dropping to almost a purr, and when the smirk starts to form on the other’s lips, he grins and adds, “ _not._ Definitely not, asshole _.”_

He punches Kagami in the gut.

 

And then again when they meet the next time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this??? There's gonna be a third chapter??! Yeah coz I have no self control. Let's all pray it won't come out next year :P

**Author's Note:**

> (｡･ω･｡)


End file.
